How strange, the nymph thought, as she stared from mountain to maiden, mulling over the portions of life-altering routes, travels and all the world stages they’d come to claim. They were all composed for different hymns, different songs, different symphonies and orchestras, and while Iyana rumbled through her gifts, the fairy puzzled and paused, strove to meet the damned and nameless. I’m not a fighter - though neither had she been, until the realm called for it, commanded she revel in violence, that she dance within the rapture of villainy, twist and shout with her heathen brethren until they beat back monsters or tucked their heads into vanquished tethers, and realizing that she’d do it all over again for the sake of her herd, her kingdom. I do not condone thievery… and Lena wanted to laugh, because she knows the impersonators and swindlers chiseled into their band (sweet Arah, wise Faelene, knightly Roland), loved them as dearly as she cherished the sky, the earth, the sun, the snow, how each role was meant to shape and fashion the land into power and regality. I do not know how to build things either..: the sienna figure bet against the notion; there were many a ruin to fashion and mold back into whatever they wished, whatever they longed to nourish, touch and portray – the ivory mare had more powers she longed to grant herself, and Lena itched to delve into them, grab the inner potency and show her glory, ability, capacity, and capability. Healing wasn’t a shard she wanted to polish either, and when Iyana finally resolved her affluence, the fey’s smile grew, her head tilted, and she shared the remnants of her joviality with the newfound maiden. “I’m sure you are far more capable than you believe.” Her eyes coasted back towards the summits, stared at their brutality, at their force, at their undying vigilance, then scattered along the frame of the other mare, and wished many things for her. She didn’t need strength, she didn’t crave potency, but perhaps confidence, yes, conviction, faith, assurance in her efforts, in her rapture, in her reveries, granted opportunities for courage and mettle to grow, root, blossom in her stead. Even as mischief unraveled, hinted along the ghost of her smile, Lena followed suit, beckoned the chase of exotic fervor, beautiful splendor, wild, unsung opulence. Iyana had room to sprout and thrive, and the maiden longed to ensure it was cultivated, sprung from the idle whims of their fanciful natures. “I shall have to introduce you to our scholars and emissaries then. They would love to revel in another’s knowledge and lend you their own.”

A wink followed, then a nod, a tumbling of strides invoking dance, melee, strings and courtyards, widened hallways and parlors to etch and sketch freedom. She followed Imogen as she sprang ahead, loosened her untamed abandon into nature’s eager guise and gaze, and Lena strived to conjure wisdom and proficiency where she could. Between her lips, the labyrinth bloomed, until she spilled forth all of its idle wiles and capricious pursuits, singsong dreams and valorous munitions. “Come! I'll give you a tour.” She paused briefly, constantly offering and bestowing, selfless and benevolent, arms open wide to let the sun and new comrades in. “Will we journey to the cave of the Haruspex, first?” Her eyes danced, gestured to each named quandary. “Or the hot springs? The lake?”


@[Iyana]